ROBBINS Harold - The Carpetbaggers

The surgeon nodded. "Malignant and metastatic," he answered. "I removed one complete kidney and almost half of the other. That's why you have that waste bag."

"Will it be painful?"

"Very. But we can control it with morphine."

"To hell with that," the old man said. "Dying is about the only thing in life I haven't experienced. It's something I don't want to miss."

The teletype began to clatter suddenly and the old man glanced over at it, then back at the doctor. "How will I know when it's close, Doc?"

"Watch the urine in that bag," the doctor said. "The redder it gets, the nearer it is. That means the kidney is passing clear blood instead of urine, because the cancer will have choked off the kidney completely."

The look in the old man's eyes was bright and intelligent. "That means I’ll probably die of uremic poisoning."

"Possibly. If nothing else goes wrong."

Standhurst laughed. "Hell, Doc," he said, "I could have done that twenty years ago if I'd just kept on drinking."

The surgeon laughed. "But look at all the fun you'd have missed."

The old man smiled up at him. "You Socialists will probably declare a national holiday."

"I don't know, Mr. Standhurst." The doctor returned his smile. "Who would we have to complain about then?"

"I'm not worried," the old man said. "Hearst and Patterson will still be around."

The doctor held out his hand. "Well, I've got to be going, Mr. Standhurst."

Standhurst took his hand. "Good-by, Doc. And thanks."

The surgeon's dark eyes were serious. "Good-by, Mr. Standhurst," he said. "I'm sorry." He started for the door. The old man's voice turned him around.

"Will you do me a favor, Doc?"

"Anything I can, Mr. Standhurst."

"That nurse up in the operating room," Standhurst said. "The one with the gray eyes and the tits."

The surgeon knew whom he meant. "Miss Denton?"

"If that's her name," the old man said.

The surgeon nodded.

"She said if I wanted to see her without her mask, she'd come down. Would you leave word with Colton on your way out that I'd like her to join me for lunch?"

The surgeon laughed. "Will do, Mr. Standhurst"

Jennie picked up the bottle of champagne and poured it into the tall glass filled with ice cubes. The wine bubbled up with a fine frothy head, then settled back slowly as she filled it to the brim. She put the glass straw into the glass and handed it to Standhurst. "Here's your ginger ale, Charlie."

He grinned at her mischievously. "If you're looking for something to bring up the gas," he said, "champagne beats ginger ale any time." He sipped at it appreciatively. "Ah," he said and burped. "Have some, maybe it will make you feel sexy."

"What good would it do you if I did?" Jennie retorted.

"I'd feel good just remembering what I'd have done if it were twenty years ago."

"Better make it forty, to be safe."

"No." He shook his head. "Twenty was the best. Maybe it's because I appreciated it more then, knowing it wasn't going to last very long."

The teletype in the corner of the library began to chatter. Jennie got up out of the chair and walked over to it. When it stopped, she tore the message off and came back to him. "They just nominated Roosevelt for a second term." She handed him the yellow sheet.

"I expected that," he said. "Now they'll never get the son of a bitch out of there. But why should I worry? I won't be around."

The telephone began to ring almost as he finished speaking. It was the direct wire from his Los Angeles paper. She picked it up off the desk and brought it over to him. "Standhurst," he said into it.

She could hear a faint buzz on the other end of the wire. His face was expressionless as he listened. "Hell, no! There's time enough to editorialize after he's made his acceptance speech. At least, then we'll have an idea of what promises he's going to break. No editorials until tomorrow. That goes for all the papers. Put it on the teletype."

He put down the telephone and looked at her. Immediately, the teletype began to clatter again. She walked over and looked down at it. Green letters began to appear on the yellow paper.

FROM CHARLES STANDHURST TO ALL PAPERS: IMPORTANT. ABSOLUTELY NO EDITORIALS RE NOMINATION ROOSEVELT UNTIL ACCEPTANCE SPEECH IS MADE AND EVALUATED. REPEAT. ABSOLUTELY NO EDITORIALS RE NOMINATION ROOSE-

She walked away from the teletype while it was still chattering. "That's your orders, boss."

"Good. Now turn the damn thing off so we can talk."

She went over and flipped the switch, then came back and sat down opposite him. She took a cigarette and lit it as he sipped the champagne through the straw reflectively. "What are your plans when this job is over?"

"I haven't thought much about it."

"You better start," he said. "It won't be long now."

She smiled at him. "Anxious to get rid of me?"

"Don't be silly," he said. "The only reason I've stayed alive this long is because I didn't want to leave you."

Something in his voice made her look searchingly at him. "You know, Charlie, I believe you really mean that."

"Of course I do," he snapped.

Suddenly touched, she came over to the side of his chair and kissed his cheek. "Hey, Nurse Denton," he said. "I think you're breaking down. I'll get you in the sack yet."

"You got me a long time ago, Charlie. The only trouble is, we didn't meet soon enough."

When she thought about it, that was true. The very first time she'd come down to have lunch with him in the hospital, the day after the operation, she'd liked him. She knew he was dying and after a moment, she knew that he knew it. But it didn't stop him from playing the gallant. None of that bland, tasteless hospital food for him, even if he couldn't eat.

Instead, the food was rushed by motorcar from Romanoff's with a police escort out in front and the siren blaring all the way. And along with the food came a maitre d' and two waiters to serve it.

He sat up in his bed, sipping champagne and watching her eat. He liked the way she ate. Picky eaters were usually selfish lovers. They gave you nothing, demanding the same sort of unattainable satisfaction in bed that they demanded from the table. He made up his mind instantly, as he always did. "I’m going to be sick for a while," he said. "I’m going to need a nurse. How would you like the job?"

She'd looked up from her coffee, her gray eyes quizzical. "There are nurses who specialize in home care, Mr. Standhurst. They'd probably be better at it than I am."

"I asked you."

"I have a job at Los Angeles General," she said. "A good job. Then sometimes I get special calls to help out here, like this one. It's the kind of work I'm good at."

"How much do you make?"

"Eighty-five a month, room and board."

"I’ll pay you a thousand a week, room and board," he said.

"But that's ridiculous!"

"Is it?" he asked, watching her steadily. "I can afford it. When the doctor left here this morning, he told me I've only got three months to go. I always expect to pay a little bit more when I can't offer a steady job."

She looked down as the waiter refilled her coffee cup. "You'd be here for about three weeks," she said. "That will give me time to give notice. When do you want me to start?"

"Right now. And don't worry about the notice. I already told Colton and Los Angeles General that you were coming to work for me."

She stared at him for a moment then put down her cup and got to her feet. She gestured to the maitre d' and immediately the waiters began to wheel the table out. "Hey, what's the idea?" Standhurst asked.

Jennie didn't answer as she walked to the foot of the table and picked up the chart. She studied it for a moment and then came over and took the glass of champagne out of his hand. "If I’m working for you now," she said, "it's time you got some rest."